Mr. Handyside did listen, and pricked his ears at the mention of Scotland Yard.

“Gosh!” he exclaimed, “this is better’n a life-line movie!  For the love of Millie, let me in by the early door!  Now, how’s this for a proposition?  You send those telegrams, and I’ll fix the cab an’ buy the transportation to Eastbourne for the pair of us.  I’m not heeled, but I may be useful, an’ I’ll jab any fellow in the solar plexus at call.”

Theydon gazed at this self-avowed knight-errant in surprise.  Handyside was a man of forty, whose dark hair was flecked with gray.  He was quietly dressed, a wide-brimmed high-crowned hat of finely-plaited white straw providing the solo note of markedly American origin in his attire.  The expression of his well-moulded features was shrewd but pleasing, and the poise of a spare but sinewy frame gave evidence of active habit and some considerable degree of physical strength.

“Pon my honor,” said the Englishman.  “I’m half inclined to take you at your word, except in the matter of expenses, which, of course, I must bear.  You see, if my services are called for, and prove effective, I may need help.”

“Go right ahead,” said the other calmly.  “Tell me as much or as little as you like.  Where’s this place, Eastbourne?  On the south coast, I guess.”

“Yes.”

“I thought it would be.  A man on the steamer asked me to come and see him at Westgate, which is about as far east as you can go in England without wetting your feet.  I’m getting the hang of things here by degrees.  Southport, of course, is away up north, and Northamptonshire in the midlands.”

Theydon grinned, but the taxi was passing Buckingham Palace, and the hour was 1:17 p. m.

“I cannot give you any sort of an explanation now, Mr. Handyside,” he said.  “Later in the week, perhaps, I may have a big story for your private ear.  All I can say at the moment is this—­ I have reason to believe that a young lady, a daughter of Mr. James Creighton Forbes, a well-known man in the city of London, is being decoyed to Eastbourne in the belief that her mother is ill.  Now, I may be wholly mistaken.  Her mother may be ill.  If that is so, I am making this trip under a delusion.  At any rate, my notion is to try and fall in with Miss Forbes accidentally, as it were, and watch over her until I am quite sure that she is with her mother.  You follow me?”

“Seems to me,” said the American imperturbably, “it’s the most natural thing in the world that Mr. Theydon should want to show his friend, Mr. Handyside of Chicago, England’s most bracing and attractive seaside resort, if that’s the right way to describe Eastbourne.”

“Both the plan and the description are admirable.”

“The plan sounds all right.  As for the description I have been looking up a selection of posters, and those seven words apply to every half-mile strip of beach in the island.  When it comes to a real show-down, your poster artists have got our real estate men skinned a mile.  How much did you promise the taxi-man?”